


The Way to a Man's Heart

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, M/M, and maybe a ftm john still not sure, and student debt, daves rude about cows who gave their life for hamburgers so sorry to the vegans, its just gonna be a nice little story with tonsa angst later on, srsly theres gonna be poverty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 08:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2018445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave Strider has managed to survive his first college year exclusively on shitty beer and chips, but he finally gives in and visits the local McDonalds for a savory, heart disease on a bun, which, to destitute Dave, is one of the best meals on the face of this Earth. And on a chance encounter, he meets a certain buck-toothed goober, who is willing to cook for Dave anytime he wants, and soon it's not just his cooking that makes John his favorite person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way to a Man's Heart

  
    There are few things as good as a triple cheese burger, all dressed up in ketchup, mayonnaise, and extra pickles. In fact, you think there is _nothing_ better than the juicy, beefy heart attack currently in your hands. If there is one thing that being scum-city poor has taught you, it was to appreciate the little things. And so you appreciated the shit out of this McDonald's monstrosity by moaning, loud and confident, in their restaurant. Not even the best, steamy, under-the-sheet spelunking could make the sounds flow out of your mouth as smoothly and as willingly as this dead cow.  
    You dip your head forward in content, smiling big as you slowly chewed what would probably put you in the grave twenty years ahead of schedule. Damn, you should get another one of these.  
    You're half-way through sucking your ring finger clean when a bag dumps itself in your booth.

  
        "Woah, woah, woah, there. Booth's takin'," you tell the bag. Doesn't matter if it's the nice, canvas sort. You need your alone time with Bessy.

  
        "But you're alone," bag points out. You look up. Oh, right. Inanimate objects aren't the sources of voices, it's usually a person. And this person was looking down at you while you still mouth-cleaned your digits.  

  
        You finish cleaning off your pinky before shrugging, "Don't know what'ta tell yah, kid. Go sit somewhere else." It didn't matter if the guy was pretty decent on the eyes. No one comes between you and the McBurger.  
    The kid plops down anyway. You raise your eyes from the delectable artery-roadblock to him, not caring if he can't see the glare behind your sunglasses.

  
        "Dude, I just said--"  
        "There's no other seats."

  
    You look around. Huh, kid's right. Every other booth or table that you could see was occupied by at least two people. Except that guy other there by the window, but _damn_ he looks scary. You don't remember it becoming this crowded. Can't say you really blame the kid for choosing to bask next to one grade-A Strider. But, still, this was suppose to be a treat for you.

  
        You narrow your eyes and pinch your lips, "...Fine. But I want three'a those nuggets as an apology for ruinin' my date."  
        Kid's brown orbs expand double behind his dweeby glasses, "What? No way! One! And what date? With who?" He looks around, like he might see some dame worth your time.

  
    You wave the half-eaten cheeseburger in front of his face, "With my beloved here," you bring it back to your mouth to bite into it, closing your eyes and moaning, louder than before, in pleasure, "and now I want five fer th'trouble."

  
    The kid stares, a blank face that could almost rival your own, before bursting out laughing, complete with snorts sprinkled in. You watch as he grabs at his stomach while he laughs, and you take this time to slide his chicken nuggets over towards you. You take six and hide them behind your burger wrappers. You grab a pack of ketchup as a last thought, too. If all it takes is to make some sounds while you eat to get _two_ free meals, this lunch might turn out better than you planned. You slid his tray back towards him as he starts composing himself.

  
        "So, what's yer name, kid?" you ask. 

  
    He reopens his nugget container and lifts one to his mouth, not even bothering to count them. Fuck, you should've taken seven.

  
        "Egbert," kid says, "John Egbert." And it fit the kid, in a weird, nerdy kind of way, "and you're Dave Strider."

  
    Oh Christ, was this another creepy fan? You did not need another one of those. You sigh.

  
        "Shit, which one'na my things are you obsessed with, Egderp? My itunes? You subscribin' t'my magazine? You gettin' your rocks off to my blog? Jesus Christ, dude, you're usin' my blog as material fer when you're hot 'n' bothered, aren't yah, you li'l--"  
        "We go to the same university." You blink. Oh. Egbert's face is flushed pink, and his ears are a brilliant red. Huh. You didn't know blushing was something people still did anymore. It seemed like the gene had been completely eradicated.

  
        "Huh, really? And here I thought you were stalkin' me."  
        He dips a nugget into his ketchup and scrunches up his face, "Does that happen a lot? The, uh, stalking thing?"

  
    You take the time to unload the packet of stolen condiment and slam dunk the thieved chicken into it.

  
        "Meh, not too much. But ladies always burnin' hot fer a Strider," you give him a pointed look, forgetting that it's lost behind the shades, "but yah wouldn't have been the first guy to Dante Soiu me."  
        Egbert inclines his head, "Who?"  
        You shake yours, brushing the crazy, but admittedly old reference aside, "So, do we have any classes together or are yah just fawnin' over me 'cross campus?" The blush was back. Damn, this was the reddest kid you've ever seen. Besides that one time that three year old choked on a grape in Wal-Mart. Who even chokes on grapes? Kid should've had the decency to swallow the whole vine. You saved him, violently patting his back, but it was just anti-climatic when only a lone, purple  grape popped out of the little kid's throat.

  
        He rubs at the back of his neck with one hand, feeds himself with the other, and swallows, "Uh, we're both in finance and web design."  
    You nod. It was Bro who convinced you to take finance, even though you've been the one managing the money since you turned fifteen. You guess there's been a reason you're still fuck-all poor, even when you're away from him and his money blowing habits. That could just be the student debt talking, though. You shift to take your phone out of your pocket, accidentally knocking your knee with what you hope was his.

  
        You smirk, "Well then, Egderp, we're gonna have'ta make fun'a the professors behind their backs. Gimme yer number."  
    And he does, smiling huge and showing off the beaver teeth that were in dire need of orthodontistry and were the probable cause of years of bullying. You snap his picture while you're at it for his contact information. He puts in your number, too, and even coaxes a small smile for your picture. You might've cooled your irony shtick down a few notches, but that doesn't mean you give out your facial expressions all willy-nilly.  
    You flash your teeth, a huge shark's grin, before chomping down the last bit of your delicious, butchered cattle.  
    Okay, whatever, you're Dave Strider, and what emotions Cha Cha Slide across your face are your own damn business. You finish off the last of the dork's chicken, too, before sitting back, lacing your hands behind your head, content. Not a bad meal's worth.

  
        "You heading back to Uni?" aforementioned dork asks. You have to think about it. Your class doesn't start up for another twenty minutes, and you feel too good to move. And you could always do with another of burger. Really, this has been the best you've eaten all year. You've only manage to last this long on crappy booze and potato chips.  
    You peek open one eye to judge his expression. Little shit's excited as hell, must think you are an absolute Godsend. Well, not even you can disappoint a happy little goober like John.

  
        You move your entwined hands from behind you and stretch them forward, popping a few finger joints, and move your head from side to side, popping your neck, too, before answering, "Yeah, okay, I'm comin'. But lemme buy another heart attack t'go fer dinner later."  
        John jerks back a little in surprise at this, "You're gonna eat another one of those for dinner?"  
    You shrug an answer. You can't cook worth a shit, unless it's microwavable, and even then sometimes you hit the popcorn button one too many times and you end up with this burnt monstrosity that has once secretly made you tear up. _I'm so sorry, Orville Redenbacher_ , you had whispered to the charred remains. _I'm so sorry._ The popcorn had trusted you with it's life, and you, you Dave Strider, have killed it.

  
        "Dude, no, as your new buddy there is no way I can let you eat another one of those. Come over to my house, I'm making spaghetti for my cousin and I."  
        You flash him a good amount of Strider pearly whites, "Egderp, I believe this is the start of a beautiful bromance."

  
    You sling your arm over his shoulder, noticing how almost tiny he is to you in comparison, and he stumbles against you. _Damn_ , you hope he makes home-made meatballs.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I feel like I should explain why I write John and Dave the way I do.  
> So, Dave is usually written as a stoic character and his friends/love interests can barely ever get a smile from him but Dave has so many HUGE in-comic expressions and he's really just a dork. The food love and written accent comes from me, the poor as dirt Texan so shut up. Plus, my ALL TIME favorite thing is written accents and no one seems to do them. If I knew what a Washington accent was, I'd do one for Egbert too.  
> I just sorta suck at writing John. I'm actually thinking about making Johnny-boy trans, but I'm not sure yet. I just like writing trans characters. And yeah I wrote John's eyes as brown deal with it.
> 
> I don't know how universities work. I barely understand how McDonalds works. I don't think I understand it. 
> 
> actually I'm just so sorry. 
> 
> ill try to make chapters longer but i suck at pacing  
> title is bound to change i just dont know where im going with this story


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